Poor Cecco

by Margery Williams Bianco

  The others stood and watched him in admiration. It was all so perfectly simple and came out just right, only the Easter Chicken said:

  “I don’t see why you need measure just to get back to where you started from.”

  “You’ve got to measure,” said Poor Cecco hastily, for he did not want them to start asking questions. “It’s got to be done like that, or it won’t come out properly.”

  “Do you mean the treasure won’t come out?” asked the Easter Chicken.

  But Poor Cecco put him back in the Wooden Engine and told him to keep quiet.

  “I wish I hadn’t come,” said the Easter Chicken, snuggling down inside the Engine. “I’m sure it’s going to be boring. Wake me up when you find the treasure,” he called out aloud.

  Tubby and Bulka began to dig, taking turns with the spade, while Poor Cecco dug with his paws. Showers of earth flew over his back; soon there was quite a hole. It was exciting work, but the dolls grew tired of looking on; they wanted to see the treasure at once, and that was not possible. So they dragged Ida over to a more comfortable spot and sat down on her to gossip.

  “Don’t you think Harlequin is handsome?” asked Gladys. “I find there is something so distinguished about him.”

  “He is certainly good-looking,” said Virginia May, “but even you must admit that he has very little conversation. I never hear him say anything but ‘Hey Presto,’ and that is bound to become monotonous after a time, even when you are married to a person.”

  “I don’t agree with you,” said Gladys. “It is perhaps true that he seemed more intelligent before we were married, but that was probably due to shyness. He is extremely elegant, and after all what more can you want?”

  “Domestic life is boring,” said Virginia May, “and what’s more, it makes people stupid and conceited. I intend to keep my independence.” And she made a movement to smooth out her skirts, but remembering that tonight she had none, sat with her hands folded stiffly on her lap, staring out at the potato patch.

  “She is jealous,” thought Gladys. “That is because she has no wedding-dress, but what can I do? These things are arranged for one by fate.”

  Ida sighed. Romantic by nature, she was doomed to spend her life listening to other people’s confidences. No one ever thought of falling in love with her, and yet she had all the qualifications for an ideal wife.

  Anna now was different. Anna held her head high. She stood now in the moonlight, serene on her little green meadow, her two glass eyes, set almost on the top of her woolly head, staring of necessity straight up into the sky. It gave her a rather stupid expression, but the lion did not notice that. He thought she was beautiful. He thought, in fact, she was the most beautiful person in the world.

  “I adore you!” he said to her now for the hundredth time. “Leave this barren country and fly with me to the jungle.”

  “I don’t think I should like the jungle,” said Anna. “Every one tells me it is full of snakes. I could never feel at home there.”

  “How can you tell until you have tried?” objected the Lion. “The jungle is a wonderful place. There is a green twilight within it, monkeys swing from branch to branch. There the birds have a thousand voices and the flowers are lovelier than the fairest dream. Fly with me, beautiful Anna, and we will be king and queen of the jungle for ever!”

  “Would I really be queen?” Anna asked, for that interested her.

  “You shall be queen of the whole forest,” said the Lion. “A thousand slaves shall do your bidding and you shall wear garlands of flowers round your neck.”

  “I cannot abandon my meadow,” said Anna primly. “I have made a vow never to leave it.”

  “Oh, of course,” retorted the Lion, really losing his temper this time, “if you mean to spend all your life attached to a miserable bit of painted board, then there’s no use arguing with you!”

  And he turned his back on her in a great huff and went off to see how the treasure was getting on. Anna felt that she had pushed matters a little too far. She had no intention of settling down in the jungle, which she pictured as an overgrown bean-patch, but she liked to hear the Lion talk about it; he put everything in such a poetic light that it really sounded quite attractive. She wandered off now among the potatoes, hoping that the lion would change his mind and follow her, as he had done many times before, but he didn’t. Anna was too proud to call him, so she blundered on and on, feeling that her evening was completely spoiled, and presently got lost among the potato vines for her pains, which served her right.

  Meantime, quite a large hole had been dug under the stone, but there was so far nothing to show. Bulka’s paws were blistered from digging; he was all for giving up the job and trying somewhere else, but the Money-Pig would not hear of this. The mere thought of treasure excited him, and as his legs were too short for him to dig himself he felt quite safe in giving orders to the others.

  “Remember,” he kept shouting, “I am the guardian of this treasure. I order you to keep on digging till you find it.

  “In Tubbyland,” Tubby began in her squeaky voice, “whenever there is treasure it’s always buried under big stones, and there’s heaps and heaps of it, and whoever finds it it belongs to all of them, and as soon as ever you start digging—”

  “I’m sick of hearing about Tubbyland,” said Bulka, sucking his paws that had begun to smart. “I wish Tubbyland had never been invented!”

  “Then if you say that,” said Tubby indignantly, “it’s just the same as saying you wish I had never been invented!”

  “I do!” cried Bulka. “I do wish you’d never been invented, so Hinksman!”

  “Oh! Oh!” shrieked Tubby. “Bulka’s being unkind to me!”

  Poor Cecco had to stop digging.

  “Can’t you two keep from quarrelling for one evening!” he exclaimed.

  “Well, Tubby is so ucky!” said Bulka sulkily.

  Now “ucky” is the very horridest word you can use about anybody—you can tell from the sound how horrid it is—and things were likely to have gone very badly had not Harlequin suddenly had an idea. This did not happen to him often; up to the present he had contented himself with dancing about and saying “Hey Presto” while the others worked, which did not assist matters much, but he felt now that this idea was too good to be wasted.

  “Instead of digging the earth from under the stone,” he suggested, “why don’t we lift the stone off the treasure?”

  Poor Cecco scratched his head. “That’s not a bad idea!”

  “It’s what I told you all along,” put in the Money-Pig, “only no one listens to me!”

  How to do it was the question. The stone was far too heavy to lift. All of them pushing together could not budge it an inch. “We must get a lever,” said the Money-Pig. And then it was that Poor Cecco had his really bad inspiration. It all came out of trying to be too helpful.

  “If I put my tail under it,” he said, “we can use that for a lever and tilt it up.”

  “Hey Presto,” cried Harlequin, striking an attitude.

  Poor Cecco’s tail was of wood, like all the rest of him, but it was a fine strong tail, and in those days quite long. It was an easy job to poke the tip of it under the stone. Really it looked as if it would make a wonderful lever, and Poor Cecco himself was quite excited. “Now, all take hold of it together,” he cried, “and when I say ‘ready’ you must push as hard as you can!”

  And he took a long breath and planted all his four feet very firmly and said “Ready!”

  What really did happen? No one knew. But at the moment they all crowded together, holding on to his tail, and Poor Cecco took his long breath, and every one pushed, instead of the stone rolling over as they expected there was a dreadful crack, and Poor Cecco’s lovely wooden tail snapped right in half!

  That was a terrible moment! There was half of Poor Cecco’s tail broken off under the stone, and what was worse, they couldn’t pull it out again. Not that it would have been much use to him if they had.
Tubby gave a piercing shriek, Harlequin turned very pale and tottered as he stood, the dolls hid their faces, and as for Bulka, he burst out crying louder and more like a five-finger exercise than ever before, and no one had the heart to stop him. They could only put their fingers in their ears and shake their heads and stamp.

  “Indeed it doesn’t hurt,” Poor Cecco was saying. “Bulka, dear Bulka, I’ll buy a new tail to-morrow if you’ll stop crying!”

  But Bulka refused to be comforted. His weeping swelled out on the breeze, loud and strong. All over the garden one could hear him, and all the potato bugs came running, wakened out of sleep, to know what the matter was. To Anna, however, lost among the potato vines and very miserable, it was a positive blessing. She lifted her head, stopped snivelling, and lumbered back, led by the sound, to where the others were gathered.

  “What has happened?” she began. “Have you found the treasure? Why is Bulka crying?”

  “Poor Cecco has lost his tail!”

  Then Anna had to cry too.

  “Hoo—Hoo—” they all lamented. “Poor Cecco has lost his tail!”

  “Where did he lose it?” asked the potato-bugs, who after all are practical people.

  “He broke it off. Hoo—Hooo!”

  “Then why did you say he lost it?” returned the eldest potato-bug, slightly annoyed. “Lost is one thing, broken another. We can’t do anything about that!” And the potato-bugs all humped their backs and crawled back to bed again.

  Now there must be an ambulance, and it was no use shouting for the express-wagon. He had been sound asleep again these two hours past. So they turned the Easter Chicken out of the wooden Engine and put Poor Cecco in that. His legs hung over the side; it wasn’t very comfortable, but it was the best they could manage. Harlequin was to be the doctor. He was the tallest and could look quite wise so long as he didn’t open his mouth, and there was no need for that. Tubby and Virginia May would be hospital nurses and wear a red cross on their arm. They arranged it all, walking on either side the Engine to keep poor Cecco from falling out. It was almost as exciting as if they had found the treasure, and they had the added satisfaction of doing good to some one at the same time.

  So they walked home, Anna pulling the engine, and Tubby and Virginia on either side, and whenever they met any one on the road they put their handkerchiefs to their eyes and said: “Poor Cecco has lost his tail!”

  As for Poor Cecco, he got a ride home anyway, and when they reached the toy-cupboard they put him to bed in the dolls’ cradle and there he slept peacefully and Bulka sat by his side all night.

  Chapter IV

  BULKA AND POOR CECCO DECIDE TO SEE THE WORLD

  IN the morning when Poor Cecco woke he had forgotten all about his tail. But he remembered it as soon as he jumped out of bed and stood up. It felt so funny without it. There was nothing to wag but a little stump that went to and fro very fast, like a clock with the pendulum taken off.

  “That’s not so bad!” thought Poor Cecco, and skipped over to look at himself in the glass. “Half a tail is better than no tail. Besides, many of the best people wear it that way!”

  It was quite early, but there was already light in the room. Long strips of sunlight came in under the drawn window-shade. All the toys were asleep. They were very tired from staying up so late the night before.

  “Now is the time to go for a walk!” said Poor Cecco, and he called to Bulka very softly so as not to waken the others.

  Bulka had fallen asleep with his nose on the edge of the doll’s cradle. But he woke up at once with a jump, rubbing his eyes.

  “We are going for a walk!” said Poor Cecco.

  “But how about your tail?” Bulka asked.

  “My tail can very well look after itself,” Poor Cecco replied. “Besides, if we stay here the others will want to play at hospital, and that I can’t stand. Do you remember the last time Tubby had measles and Virginia pinned the bedclothes on her to keep them tidy?”

  Of course Bulka remembered. The pin had gone right into Tubby’s middle, and Virginia was quite annoyed because she had to pull it out again.

  “This time,” Poor Cecco said, “we’ll give them something that won’t matter, to practise on!”

  So he fetched a stick of firewood from the box in the kitchen. They put it in the doll’s cradle and pulled the covers up close, and it looked quite like a real wooden person lying there.

  No one was astir in the house. Outside on the doorstep Murrum, returned from his wanderings, was sniffing round the milk-bottles. He gave Poor Cecco a surly look.

  “Now we know where the milk goes!” jeered Poor Cecco.

  But he had to dodge quickly down the steps and round the rain-water butt. Lucky for him that Murrum was feeling stiff and drowsy!

  The road stretched out, like a great ribbon reaching to the ends of the world. The sun shone down, and all the grass blades had gleaming tips. It was a fine day to set out for adventures. Presently a man overtook them, driving a wagon piled high with hay.

  “Do you want a lift?” he cried. “It’s lucky to meet one wooden leg, so four must be better still! Climb up on my wagon, and I’ll take you into the town.”

  Bulka and Poor Cecco climbed up. The countryman cracked his whip, and away they went down the road. This was better than the express-wagon! The hay was as soft and springy as a feather bed. But one must take care not to fall off, and that wasn’t so easy; the wagon pitched and swayed like a ship at sea, and Poor Cecco had to cling tight with all his paws. As for Bulka, he just lay and bounced.

  That was a fine way to ride into town, with all the bells on the harness jingling and the wagon wheels a creak and the driver snapping his whip. The only trouble was that Bulka, long before they passed the last milestone, began to feel seasick.

  The driver pulled up his horses just past the bridge at the beginning of the town.

  “Now I must put you down,” he said, “for I have to drive on to the dealer and sell my hay. So good-bye, and thank you for your company!”

  And being a nice man, he reached out his arm and helped them to the ground.

  By the end of the bridge a blind man was sitting, with his back against the wall, dozing in the sunshine. Beside him sat a little black dog, keeping watch over a tin can that was placed there for pennies. There were only three pennies in it as yet, for it was still early and not many people had passed over the bridge. The blind man was very old, with a long white beard, and the little black dog was old too, and turning grey about the whiskers. But he was a pleasant-looking dog, and Poor Cecco, being a stranger in the town, thought it well to be polite to every one. So he said:

  “It’s a fine morning!”

  “It is a fine morning,” returned the little black dog without turning his head, “and fine enough for you who can run about and enjoy it! Not that I grudge it you, but it’s small pleasure to sit here day in and day out, and never a chance to stretch my legs a bit and see what’s going on in the world. No, we who have to work don’t get much fun out of life, and that’s the truth!”

  “Why do you have to sit there all day?” asked Poor Cecco. “Don’t you ever take a holiday?”

  “And who’d look after my old man here, if I went gadding about?” said the little dog. “I’m in charge of him, and he can’t be left to himself. He’s a good sort, so far as that goes, and I’m quite fond of him, but I don’t mind saying I’d like a change now and again. I fetch him out every morning and I take him home at night, and between whiles I must sit here and look after the pennies.”

  Poor Cecco peered into the tiny cup.

  “I should think the pennies could very well look after themselves,” he said.

  “That shows how much you know about it,” returned the little dog. “It’s easy to tell you’re from the country, even if I hadn’t seen you ride up on the hay wagon! Still, I like the look of you, and I can’t say that of every one.”

  “Suppose I take your place for a while?” said Poor Cecco, who was anxious to b
e friendly. “I’ll sit here and watch the pennies, and give you a chance to walk about a bit and see the town.”

  The little dog stared at him.

  “That’s an idea worth thinking about,” he said. “But how can I tell you’ll look after the business properly? I can’t have my old man robbed by any one who may come along.”

  “Leave that to me,” said Poor Cecco. “As for Bulka here, he’ll sit by and help me. Only take your head out of the collar and let me get mine in.”

  So the little dog pulled his head out of the collar, very carefully, so as not to waken the old man, and Poor Cecco slipped his head through instead. The collar was far too big, but he managed to prop it up somehow, and there he sat on the pavement, with the tin cup at his feet.

  “That’s a neighbourly act,” said the little dog. “I will do as much for you, some day. Now look pleasant, and above all, don’t forget to wag your tail for a penny! It pleases the people and draws custom.”

  And he strolled off down the road, very pleased with himself, stretching his legs and sniffing at all the corners like any fine gentlemanly dog of leisure.

  The first passer-by paid no attention at all, but strode by in a great hurry without even looking their way. The second paused and stared, but just as Poor Cecco was getting his half tail ready to wag, he too passed on. But the third one stopped long enough to put his hand in his pocket and drop a penny into the tin cup, and thump went Poor Cecco’s tail on the pavement, just as the little black dog had told him. He couldn’t wag it sideways, for it wasn’t made that way, but he lifted it up and let it drop—bang—just like a door-knocker, and that did quite as well.

  “That’s a fine sort of dog you’ve got,” said the stranger, who had the look of a countryman.

  The blind man aroused, and nodded his head.

  “He’s a good enough dog,” he said.

  “And he won’t eat you out of house and home either, I’ll be bound,” said the man.

  “He eats what he can get,” returned the blind man, “but we must all do that.”